


the gentleness that comes

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: But a good sad, F/M, Wings, i am here with more soft, this time with a tinge of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: As the last fingers of the sun disappear and the first sparkle of silver makes itself known in the sky, he unfurls his wings.or: a moment that is, perhaps, the first time she has seen them.





	the gentleness that comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incalyscent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incalyscent/gifts).



> "We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it." - Richard Siken

At some point in the in between, he starts to care just enough that he begins to think some things aren’t worth hanging on to.  _ Some things, oh they are worth it, silent moments and fleeting glances that he tucks away and keeps for eternity, soft words that find their place in the emptiness he has cleared for them _ . And so he moves forward, guided by the thread that pulls him toward her, finds that there is only one person’s forgiveness that can save him, and he willingly gives it. 

What he feels afterward is the thing he’d been chasing all those years ago with misguided sainthood; it’s something so foreign that it had been buried beneath years of brimstone and torture, the elation of a good deed that feels like  _ flying _ , as if he hadn’t thought of it before it made itself known from the lips of a miracle.

*

He whispers her name in the fading sunlight and leads her to the balcony as the stars make themselves known in the sky. One day, he would take her far from the city limits where she could see them spread across the dark velvet, name each one for her, and leave a promise to show her more hanging silently in the cool desert air. But today he stands beside her at the rail, leans against it and watches quietly as she mirrors his stance without thinking.

“Detective,” he says on an exhale, the way he speaks against her skin on most nights. He follows the movement of her brow as she turns to look at him. “Chloe,” he says between her breaths and oh her patience, the softness of her face as she waits for him to speak, her lips parted just so, he aches for it. He realizes he always has. As the last fingers of the sun disappear and the first sparkle of silver makes itself known in the sky, he unfurls his wings. The air is still as they stretch, seeking the starlight they haven’t seen since his body became that of the comets he once created on a whim. 

He trusts her not to break in the presence of divinity the way he trusts her in this moment as she reaches almost tentatively for the rustling feathers. She says his name like it’s a sacrament and he follows the thread toward her so she can better reach. He catches her wrist like he did not so long ago, but there is no force behind this, only a gentle tug to press a kiss to her fingertips, a blessing before she touches down and lets go of the breath he hadn’t noticed she was holding.

It ghosts across his skin as her fingers dance across feathers, so careful, and he can almost hear her echoing his words  _ I’m not worth it _ in the way she looks at him. He wants to hold her, tell her  _ you are, you are, you are. you are worth the fall, the pain, the loneliness _ but he doesn’t. Instead he encourages her to explore, cautions her of sharp edges, and wonders how he allowed himself to forget  _ this _ even if it had made sense at the time.

The balcony is high enough that even in the city of Angels and sin and desire, there is serenity that he loses himself in. He feels her step even closer, watches her rise onto her toes, and closes his eyes when she presses the barest of kisses against his lips. “Thank you,” she says and the way she says it breaks something in Lucifer. He kisses her back tenderly, just enough to forget that he has begun to cry. But his wings do not forget and they angle for her touch, now lost to fingers in his hair, cupping his cheek, pressed against his jaw as if they were the only thing that would keep him there, keep him whole.

When she pulls back, her eyes are shining, and he knows stars when he sees them. While he is the Lightbringer, he does not doubt for a second that it is she who should wear that mantle. He tries not to sound desperate when he says, “You can touch them again.” He’s not sure what he sounds like, but she pushes her fingers between soft feathers anyway and noses his shoulder. His hum is a benediction, a reminder that this is something he  _ can _ have, something that is theirs and theirs alone, and they stand together on the balcony with his wings outstretched and the stars finding homes in her eyes. 

* 

At some point in the in between, he starts to file things as  _ BC _ and  _ AD _ , but not in the way the history books do. And the things that are worth it, the feeling of her fingers against his skin, his wings, his being, the way her eyes sparkle when she catches sight of him in the precinct, the quiet way they come together after a hard case, find their place in the emptiness he has cleared for them. 

**Author's Note:**

> bc: before chloe  
> ad: after dying (for chloe)


End file.
